here is another poem
Slick brown hair, soft in warmth of a pillow but seem in a dream.... Moon and Sun, one from the Greek and one from the Italian, meet at earths point, the highest hill above the clouds, yet never seen until death.
View User's Journal
All About Me!
[i:2c4f8ff7c0]Isn't it lovely how the wind blows? No, darling. Not at all.[/i:2c4f8ff7c0][/color:2c4f8ff7c0]
[i:2c4f8ff7c0]You will never know what one is thinking until one is lost inside their own mind.[/color:2c4f8ff7c0][/i:2c4f8ff7c0][/size:2c4f8ff7c0]
[i:2c4f8ff7c0]You will never know what one is thinking until one is lost inside their own mind.[/color:2c4f8ff7c0][/i:2c4f8ff7c0][/size:2c4f8ff7c0]